


(i just wanna feel) your lips against my skin

by flirtingwithtrackers



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Mild Smut, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtingwithtrackers/pseuds/flirtingwithtrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>clarke comes back and bellamy is a little resentful</p>
<p>or, the one with sad sex and too many unanswered questions</p>
            </blockquote>





	(i just wanna feel) your lips against my skin

**Author's Note:**

> 'canonverse angsty bellarke reunion smut' for [wells-jaha](http://wells-jaha.tumblr.com), winner of best 100 blog in our tumblr awards :))
> 
> hope you like it, it got a little angsty..... sorry nOT SORRY
> 
> title from 'is there somewhere?' by halsey because i am shit at titles, oops

She’s been back for three days when he goes to her tent in the middle of the night. She isn’t sleeping and he wonders if she’s having nightmares, too. She looks thin and drawn, her eyes a dull blue above dark circles. He shuffles in the doorway of her small cabin, suddenly regretting his decision. When she sits up in her bed, swinging her legs over the side to look at him, he stands his ground, squaring his shoulders.

He hates himself for even being here, but the questions—and all the answers he’s sure he’s never going to get—have been nagging at him for too long. He thought he could give Clarke this, give her what she needed, the space she wanted. But in the end he’s still as selfish as he’s always been—the same man that condemned 300 people to death just to save his own skin. He thought maybe he loved her, or _could have_ , enough to be selfless with her, but he can’t and he doesn’t want to even think about what that means. 

Clarke hasn’t said a word, though her mouth opens slightly as though she’s searching for the right thing to say. But there is nothing.

“Were you even planning on coming back?” No answer falls from her mouth as it closes silently. “You spent two years in these same godforsaken woods and you couldn’t even let us know you were okay?” Her gaze falls to the hands clasped in her lap. “You weren’t the only one who needed healing, Clarke. We could have healed together, all of us.”

“Bellamy.” She says it like a plea and his heart hurts in his chest.

“Why didn’t you stay? Why kill all those people just to leave your own behind?”

“Bellamy,” she says again. She’s standing now and he can see the shine of a tear on her cheek through the darkness.

He lets out a deep, shaky breath. “I needed you.”

He thought he would come in and yell at her, the anger he’s felt over the years of her absence still burning under his skin. But now that he’s here, and she’s standing in front of him, he can’t bring his voice louder than a whisper, his throat closing around the words uncomfortably. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until her fingers are circling his wrists, pulling them together in between them.

“I’m sorry,” is all she says.

Bellamy looks down at her, the messy braids her hair is tied up into—a style she probably learned in Polis. He finds the little mark resting above her lip and feels relief that it’s still there. She looks up at him, but the blue of her eyes no longer brings him comfort, only reminding him of the first clear summer skies they saw, the ones she missed.

_You’re not forgiven_.

Her fingers tighten around his wrists, her eyes searching his slowly. He tries to pull his hands away, but she only follows them, her chest just brushing his before she regains her balance. Bellamy brings up a handle to cradle her cheek when she lets go, his thumb brushing along her wan skin. She inhales sharply, closing her eyes.

He leans in to kiss her and he’s still angry, still sad, still disappointed.

She kisses him back and it doesn’t feel the way he thought it would. Bellamy intends to pull away, but her fingers are clinging to the flimsy material of his shirt and her lips taste like tears and her skin is cool against his. Neither of them protest, but they both know this isn’t the way this was supposed to happen.

Her fingernails rake down his chest underneath his shirt, leaving angry red lines. Bellamy kisses her harder when her lips tremble underneath his, pushing her back towards her bed. She pushes his jacket off his shoulders and it falls to the floor behind them. Clarke lays back and he quickly follows. She bites his lip until he tastes blood, warm and metallic.

Bellamy takes off his shirt, kneeling above her. He’s unhooking the clasp of his belt when she sits up to take off her own shirt. She’s not wearing an Ark-issue bra, her chest bound in a thick band of fabric instead. He takes off her pants once his own are lying on the floor next to his jacket.

He doesn’t bother with the bindings, nipping at the cleavage spilling out of the top with his teeth as his fingers push aside her underwear to feel her. She’s already wet, whining in his ear as he stretches her out. A few pumps and he’s pushing her underwear down her legs. She helps him kick them down hastily, her nails digging into his skin where she’s gripping his shoulders.

She wraps a cold hand around him once his Ark-issue underwear are off, guiding him into her quickly. Clarke groans as he enters her, warm and wet around him. His forehead drops to her shoulder and his lips drag across her collarbone. They don’t kiss, their faces buried into the other’s shoulder as they rock together. He doesn’t even say her name and he’s glad she hasn’t said his, their wordless moans filling her tent.

She doesn’t feel like she used to, when she was a comforting hand on a shoulder, a knee underneath his palm, shoulders brushing as they walked in sync. Touching her, seeing her, being around her, it all used to be comforting. There was a feeling of trust and familiarity, a comfort so close to home on a strange planet filled with almost nothing but death and struggle. This is a pitiful ghost of what it could have been, what _they_ could have been. It’s nothing but desperation and pain they’re trying to get rid of, only to find more. But it doesn’t stop him from touching as much of her as he can, hands warm and frantic in a feeble attempt to find even a little of what they used to be.

Clarke’s eager to wrap her legs around him, pulling him to her. That’s all the encouragement he needs before he’s thrusting into her harder and sloppier until she’s calling out. Bellamy puts a hand over her mouth, letting her moan into his palm until it’s damp.

He’s close, his groans getting louder and more frequent even as he tries to bite them back. He takes back the hand over her mouth, licking at the pad of his thumb before rubbing over her clit between them. She bites into his shoulder to keep quiet, the pain pushing Bellamy that much closer. He curses in relief when she clenches around him.

He slumps against her for a few moments, allowing himself to breathe in the earthy smell of her hair and the light sheen of sweat on her skin. He listens to her labored breathing, her chest heaving under him. And then he gets up, sitting on the edge of her bed with his head in his hands. Clarke sits up in her bed, grabbing the furs to cover herself. Her hand reaches out for his shoulder. He stands up, avoiding her outstretched hand.

She has her pants on by the time he’s fully dressed. He only gives himself one glance over his shoulder. Bellamy straightens his jacket collar, pausing a few feet in front of her doorway. He turns his head to the side, unwilling to look at her. 

“We had so much, and now we only have _this_.” And what a sad, little broken thing this is. He leaves without another word, not waiting to see if she’ll respond.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me on [tumblr](http://keywordlydia.tumblr.com) :))


End file.
